


Mutant Blood Makes Mutant Hands Unclean

by SylphOfPaperPlanes



Series: Pietro Pietro & Company [1]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Also the Cherik stuff is mostly just mentioned, Alternate title: A Mutant by Any Other Name, Drama club Pietro is the best Pietro, No blood was actually shed, whimsical mostly happy writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1886916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylphOfPaperPlanes/pseuds/SylphOfPaperPlanes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank and Charles hope to recruit a familiar, silver-haired kleptomaniac, and a very different type of drama ensues than what they expect.<br/>Needless to say, neither expected a drama club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutant Blood Makes Mutant Hands Unclean

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Hank muttered, shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pockets.

Charles Xavier, Telepath, paraplegic, and future (as well as former) head of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, had expected few things from this visit to Washington DC, save a rather obnoxious, silver haired kleptomaniac and what would likely be his many, many questions.

He did not, however, expect to be standing outside a different school at some ungodly hour of the evening.

“Cerebro hasn’t led us wrong yet.” Was all he could offer while staring at the darkened exterior of a high school. The night air seemed almost alive, flickering with fireflies and the quiet hum of suburban life slowly falling into rest. Charles could sense the slow fadings of consciousness like a blanket over the small town as the population drifted to sleep.

Except for one mind, running far too fast to even dream of resting.

“He’s definitely in there. Just trying to see what he’s thinking is enough of a migraine.” He dropped his fingers from his temple and began rolling towards the ramp by the front door. Even trying to talk to the boy with Cerebro had been a failure. The tracking aspect of the computer just couldn’t keep up with someone moving near the speed of sound.

Hank, easily keeping pace beside him, continued to talk. “Is it even worth this? He seemed pretty independent last time we visited, even if he was a pain in the-”

“We’re taking him in, Hank. And his mother seemed interested in the idea that he could practice his powers in a place with less... distractions.”

“You mean without stuff that he can steal.” The younger corrected, holding open the door. The inside of the school seemed only slightly brighter, with the lobby still dark, save light spilling out from under a set of double doors nearby. Charles briefly scanned the hallways and lockers and noted that it was just about as far from the mansion as one could get. How could he possibly hope to keep up with even public schools?

“Well...Yes. If we’re reopening the school, we’d have to expect students coming for different reasons than just learning how to master their powers.”

Hank paused with a hand half on the the door back outside. “It doesn’t matter what we expect. It’s what we’re ready for.”

“He helped us, and now we’re offering to help him. That’s final.” The words were almost snapping, and it ended the conversation quickly and efficiently.

It was difficult to notice when they were talking, but now that quiet had fallen between the two of them, there was a noticeable hum of music coming from the double doors. It was vaguely muffled, but the bass rumbled out alongside the promise of loud guitars in some form. The two looked at each other, and pushed open the doors that spilled both light and sound back into the lobby.

Part of Charles had assumed he would find the boy in some type of gym, a fitting setting for his powers. Or even detention, hell, the kid stole enough to safely assume that. 

No, what he was met with was bright stage lights and seats sloped towards a stage. The teen in question was standing on the stage, back turned to the two and busy painting some kind of background of a large building. Brown bricks and ivy vines quickly began to fill the huge canvas, growing with the speed of ten painters working at once.  

The details had taken shape of a tower before Charles was snapped out of his trance and loudly cleared his throat. That wasn’t enough to distract the teenager over the sound of the stereo in the corner of the stage, so he spoke up. “Peter, may I have a moment?”

The second the words began to leave his lips, the paintbrush was on the floor, the music silent, and the boy standing at the edge of the stage. “One of your moments, or one of mine?” He shouted, and the projection of his voice clearly bounced all the way to them. It was almost as though he was standing right next to them-

A blur of motion, and then he really was standing right next to them.

“One of your moments, then.” As though their silence had answered his question. “And please, dear god, call me Pietro. My mom thinks it was a good idea to try to keep calling me Peter but... just don’t.” He seemed different from the delinquent they had met only a few months before. The gunmetal shock of hair was longer and tied back, and the garish silver jacket had been traded in for a loose gray t-shirt smudged with paint from every color of the rainbow to the point that whatever was previously printed on it was unrecognizable.

“Pietro,” Charles said, half in confirmation, half to get his attention. “It appears you’ve been putting your powers to good use. I honestly didn’t see you being a part of a drama club-”

“I am the drama club.”

“-instead of- Pardon?”

“Well, I can’t exactly join a sport, without the whole, you know, being carted off by the government thing. And after I got banned from chess club, math league, book club, yearbook committee, newspaper club, debate team, the literary magazine...” He counted off on his fingers while getting lost in memories. “Well, after I was banned from almost every club at the school, and the drama club was dropped way back in ‘65 due to budget cuts, I started coming here after school and made my own. One man productions of all the classics. Well, some of the classics. I’ve only been at it for about six months.”

Hank squinted, pushing his glasses up on his face and clearly trying to catch up. “How do you manage to get banned from chess club?” But by the time he finished, Pietro was already back down on the stage, gathering up papers from a pile and motioning for the two to come closer.

Charles and Hank started for the stage, but after almost half a second of rolling and walking respectively, Pietro began tapping his foot, twirling a pen he must have found in the pile between his fingers fast enough for it to blur.

At three seconds, he began asking questions.

“Where’s the one with the claws?”

“What happened to your legs?”

“Was it when that guy I broke out of prison was trying to kill the president again?”

“Why is he so obsessed with killing presidents?”

“Did you really think anything you did in France would actually work?”

“Is it true that your friend here can turn blue? and huge?”

“Where’s the blue lady who can shape shift?”

By the time he reached the edge of the stage, Charles could only take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of his nose. “In order: Gone. Paralyzed. No. God only knows. Sort of. Yes. None of your business.”

“Oh, where are my manners? I’ll get you something to eat.” He called before dropping the papers and dashing off, leaving Charles with a mouth half open in protest.

Hank took hold of the stack of papers, leafing through them quickly. “It’s a script. Some type of-”

“-rendition of _Romeo and Juliet_.” Pietro finished, tossing a shrink-wrapped pastry at each of them. “Written by yours truly.”

Charles caught his, and inspected the packaging. “You definitely stole this.”

“You definitely need to get your priorities in order.” he said, unwrapping his own. “For example, when were you planning on telling me you were reopening that school of yours?”

“How did you know that?” Charles asked, still squinting at the wrapper.

“Stop leaving important papers in your rental car, and then maybe I’ll give you an ounce of respect here.” The words were said around a mouth half filled with food and tinged with a small smirk. He spotted the two not being the least interested in the food, and sighed. “If you’re not going to eat it, at least give it back.” The cake, alongside Pietro, disappeared. Charles couldn’t help but admit that he still wasn’t used to the teen’s flightiness. Or short attention span.

“Hey, Professor,” Hank said, on the final page of the draft. he looked as though he could barely contain his laughter while he tilted the paper in the his direction. “Final lines; ‘For never was a story of more woe, than this of Professor X, and his Magneto.’ ”

“What? Give me that.” The other grabbed the script, skimming the lines. “Peter!”

He reappeared, this time with a can of paint in each hand. “It’s Pietro.” he offered before continuing to paint. The telepath hadn’t seen it before, but the backdrop looked shockingly similar to his own mansion, and all the details were flooding in as fast as the paint could flow.

“Why did you rewrite _Romeo and Juliet,_ specifically with _me as Juliet_?” Charles hissed with a  soft tint of rage to his words.

The younger merely paused for a moment before continuing. “Oh, You’re Romeo. Magneto’s Juliet.” He was gone only for a second, and when he returned, Charles looked down to see a dress draped across his lap, still on it’s hanger. In the fairly familiar red and violet of Magneto’s outfit, nonetheless. “Like it? A friend in Home Ec helped me make it.”

“Perfect for him.” He continued while tracing the outline of a vine in a deep emerald. “Whiny, lovestruck, and disloyal to his family.” The words were light, but with every word, the lines of the background became more jagged.

Charles caught a nervous look and worried thought from Hank. _Do you think he knows?_

“Before you ask, Mom told me about him. Nice thing to find out days after you break a guy out from prison and watch him threaten the leader of the free world. If you do see him, tell him my birthday is in January and he has a lot of cards to make up for.”

And with that, he left in a blur of silver alongside the dress, script, stereo, and paint. The silence was almost deafening, and after a few seconds, it was clear the kid wasn’t coming back.

“Great. Just great. Even when he isn’t here, Erik ends up ruining everything.”

A familiar reverberation of bass and guitar echoed through the auditorium, coming distinctly from backstage, and the quiet whisper of a thought came from the only other left in the room.

_I think he wants us to find him._

_I’m aware of that, Hank._

_So are we going to?_

_I don’t think we have a choice._

Charles stared at the three steps leading up to the stage, and then back down at his chair before letting out a quiet sigh. Hank rushed to grab a piece of plywood from the set to create a makeshift ramp over them.

Once on the platform, the auditorium seemed a completely different place. He could clearly see why Pietro enjoyed staying here. Even facing a crowd of seats that could be filled at any moment, the stage seemed like a world of it’s own, distanced from normal space and time. Time especially. There wasn’t any place to go; no meeting to rush to, nothing to wait for and nothing waiting for you. It was bare, pure, a step back from the pressures of the material world. Even the lights that shined a neutral white seemed to add to this, a spotlight becoming the outer borders of a safe haven.

It was beautiful.

He had to break the reverie of the stage to face the curtain off to the side, the source of loud, banging music that must have been inching up in volume since it started playing.

If the stage was open and pure, than backstage was the single most crowded, cluttered space Charles had seen in the past fifteen years. Christmas lights hung loosely from the catwalk above, dying the teen’s silvery hair a cocktail of colors fit to match his shirt. The lights contrasted sharply with the black-painted concrete walls lined with raw wood sets and even a pinball machine that had seen better days. Miscellaneous snack foods were organized in milk crates stacked like shelves alongside small, likely stolen trinkets. Most of the empty space in the room was taken up by props and the like, organized in bins and boxes that formed tables for even more pastries and props. Pietro sat curled in a beanbag chair shoved in the corner between the low lying bookcase packed with scripts and another crate filled with comic books (Where Charles immediately located the speakers blasting the music). It was hard to miss a rather familiar crimson and magenta dress that hung on a clothing rack alongside other costumes nearby.

The _Romeo and Juliet_ script sat limply in Pietro’s hands while he skimmed through it. The paper flowed under his fingers, not even stopping to look at each page. His eyes seemed to move just as fast, anyway. “I thought this was pretty good. Y’know, for a kid who was born to run rather than write.”

Charles wheeled carefully into the room, and Pietro reached over in a flash to switch off the music, whether it be out of courtesy or convenience to hear the other. “Would you rather learn how to better your powers?”

“If this is another ploy for me to join your mutant army or something, I don’t want to hear it. I’ve seen what your pal with the helmet has to say on the subject, and here’s my response,” he turned to the first page of the booklet, folding it over and handing it to the other. Charles briefly noted that the edges were almost burning, from the pace the other had been flipping the pages. “Mutant blood makes mutant hands unclean.”

The telepath had to close his eyes for a moment. Deep breaths while names and faces crossed his mind. “I’ve had far too much mutant blood on my hands, Pietro. An army is the last thing I want.”

Just as suddenly as it was placed in his hands, the script was gone, and back on the shelf. “Then what do you want?”

“To help people like us in a world where no one does.”

Pietro was silent for a moment, or for him, what must have been an eternity in thought. “Your school in Westchester, would I get to learn more about my powers? Because trust me, I have decent control, well, better than decent. You’ve seen me at the Pentagon -some of my best work, have to admit- but I’ve never known my top speed or how far I can run but-”

“I can run tests.” Hank offered, still standing at the curtain. There wasn’t exactly much space inside the room, especially with a rather bulky wheelchair in the center of it. “We’ve done it with a few of the students we’ve recruited so far.”

Something seemed to shift inside Pietro’s head at the mention of other students. He still thought quickly, but it seemed to lose some of the sharp edges. Charles caught a fuzzy glimpse of a young girl with red hair and bright eyes alongside a mixed feeling of worry and love. “If you’re accepting other students...my sister... Listen, she’s younger than me, and she hasn’t manifested powers...yet. I mean, I didn’t get mine until I was like, thirteen. I can’t go without her. Package deal.” His foot seemed to bounce more rapidly, and his fingers of one hand drummed heavily on his kneecap while the other ran through his hair.

“Hank, I’m sure we can spare some space for her, can’t we?” Charles asked with a look back.

“Of course. We actually have more space than we know what to do with, at the moment.”

The words seemed to calm him somewhat, and he let his hand rest at the base of his neck. “We’d just have to talk to my mom about-”

“Already done. All you have to do is go home, pack your bags, and meet us at the airfield. Nine a.m.” Charles’s words seemed to spark excitement in the younger, finally something moving quickly enough for him. “So I’ll leave you now to pack up...this,” he gestured to the small room before backing out slightly, careful not to crush Hank’s toes. “and then go home and finish the rest. Oh, and Pietro?” He paused with a hand still holding the curtains back.

“Yeah?” In the blink of an eye, the teen was already making impressive headway on deconstructing his space.

“Do bring some of your scripts with you. I wouldn’t mind having new reading material around.” This was met with an awfully large smirk, and a blur of a scramble for a set of papers.

“Sure thing, Professor. I assume you’ll want a copy of my heavily edited _Julius Caesar_ , starring none other than my father?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

And with that, the two took their leave. Their footsteps seemed to echo out from backstage, up the aisles of the auditorium, and out into the lobby, where, after the door closed firmly behind them, a blast of loud music could be heard.

“You realize what we’ve gotten ourselves into, right?”

Charles said nothing for a long moment, staring out into the still dark sky through the front doors. “I don’t think we had much of a choice, did we?”

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand that's it! This is my first fic on this website, and I'm pretty fond of how it turned out. Feel free to leave a comment, everything is appreciated. Also, [my tumblr](http://algebrasunshine.tumblr.com/ask/) is always open for an ask, suggestion, or whatever.


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